


Lucky Ones

by PersonOfSinterest



Category: Joaquin Phoenix - Fandom
Genre: (Don't worry it's not from the guy Joaquin's based on), (I couldn't write it), Alcohol, Alcoholism, Choking, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, I guess ill add tags as i go on, I know chapter one is mild but i have plans, Implied Sexual Assault, Manipulation, Mild Language, Physical Abuse, Rough Sex, So Many Plans, So now we have:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-01-05 17:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21212426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonOfSinterest/pseuds/PersonOfSinterest
Summary: A singer in a well known jazz club meets a newcomer that catches her eye and, maybe, her heart





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lovely imagine written by @/umetsa on Tumblr. She told me she was inspired by the Lana Del Rey song _Lucky Ones_, so if you want a hint for where this is going in the future, give it a listen. Hope you enjoy!__

_People say I’m the life of the party  
Because I tell a joke or two  
Well, although I may be laughing loud and hearty  
Deep inside I’m blue___

_ _The words fell from Cynthia’s lips as easily as they always had. Smoke curled lazily upwards as the pianist followed her lead. With half lidded eyes, she scanned the crowd, seeing familiar faces smirking devilishly back at her. Characters that showed up night after night, hoping to get a private encore. It made her sick._ _

__ __ _Since you left  
If you see me with someone else  
Acting like I'm having big fun  
Well, although he may look fine  
He's not really a man   
You're the only one___

_ _ _ _That’s when her eyes fell on someone new; a man, with salt and pepper hair and eyes that seemed to look into her soul. Normally the patrons of Lulu’s were younger; men hoping that if they show up enough the famed Songbird of the South would notice them, _reward_ them, even, but this man...he didn’t have the same hopeful glint in his eyes of someone needing to get laid, no, his eyes were almost expectant; it wasn’t a matter of _if_ he got laid. It was a matter of _when.________ _ _ _

__ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Oh, look at my face  
You'll see that my smile  
Seems out of place  
And if you look closer…___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _She held the last note, watching the newcomer carefully. He raised his glass of scotch to his lips, never breaking eye contact. The piano’s final note rang, the crowd applauded, but still, Cynthia couldn’t take her mind off of the man. The club’s owner slid an arm around her waist, sending her crashing back to earth.  
“As always, our beautiful Cynthia Rae, gracing us with her angelic voice.” He kissed her temple and she stiffened, but did nothing.  
Every performer in the state knew better than to shy away from their boss, no matter how seedy and awful they may be. The man in the crowd raised an eyebrow at her, nodding his head towards the bar. Cynthia smiled, giving a small nod._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ _She slid onto a barstool, crossing her legs and giving the bartender an easy smile. With a kind smile in return, she slid Cynthia a Manhattan, extra vermouth. Releasing a soft sigh, she turned to face the room, sipping her drink and slowly scanning the club. _  
“You sounded beautiful,” said a voice to her left. Cynthia looked, finding the same man from before sitting beside her, a cigarette between his lips.   
She smiled, setting her glass down and turning to face him. Now that he was closer, she could see that he was younger than she thought, late 30s, early 40s. His eye color seemed to shift in the light, a bright green one minute, a silvery blue the next. It was mesmerizing.  
“Someone like you ought to know what beautiful is,” she replies coyly.  
He chuckles lightly, taking a deep drag of the cigarette. “You’re one to talk, Miss Cynthia Rae.”  
She traces the rim of her glass with a finger, eyes flicking from his lips to his eyes. “What do they call you?”  
“Tonight, Rafael.”  
“And tomorrow?”  
He laughed again in lieu of an answer, a bright sound that spread warmth through her chest. She wanted to hear it again. Normally, her night would’ve ended here. She’d flirt back, they’d make out, maybe have mediocre sex, and she’d never see them again, not that she wanted to. But something about Rafael felt different. The way he looked at her, not like something to fuck and throw away, but as a real person made her feel...different.   
His eyes trailed down her face, studying the way her lips curved upwards. They slid lower, admiring the way the light danced across her skin. The corners of his mouth twitched as his eyes followed her neckline to a tattoo peeking around the fabric. He could make out a name.  
“Artie.”  
She let out a humorless laugh.   
“Come with me,” she decides, fishing the cherry out of her drink and popping it into her mouth.  
“Where are we going?”   
She slid off of her barstool, holding a hand out to him. “Somewhere where we can be alone.”  
With a small smile he slid a 10 across the bar, stood, and took her hand. “Lead the way.” 

__ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ _Once they were outside he pinned her against the wall, kissing her roughly. She drew a sharp breath, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. One of his hands rested on her hip, squeezing tightly, while the other held her face, thumb tracing lightly down her throat. She shivered, pressing herself flush against him. He grinned against her lips, kissing along her jaw and down her neck, biting harshly. She hissed as he licked and sucked at the bite, stubble scraping against her skin. Her hands wove into his hair, tugging instinctively as he moaned in her ear.   
He chuckled darkly as he kissed his way up to nip at her ear. “What is it Songbird?” He rasped. “Do you want me to stop?”  
Cynthia dipped her head to catch his lips, delaying her answer.   
He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, their breath visibly mingling in the cool night air. “Are you alright?”  
“I’m fine, I just...needed to catch my breath,” she laughed softly, curling her fingers through his hair.  
He released the grip on her hip and gently began to massage where there were sure to be bruises later. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”  
“Not in a way that I minded.”  
Rafael smirked, but he didn’t miss the way that Cynthia drew her arms across her chest. “Let’s get you inside, Songbird. This doesn’t have to happen tonight.”   
They untangled from each other, somewhat reluctantly, as she instantly tucked herself into his side. He chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her back inside.  
As they walked back to her room in comfortable silence, the singer studied the man at her side. He had a scar just above his lip that she hadn’t noticed before. His eyes were bright and intelligent, but they also seemed sad. It was alluring in a way; she wanted to understand him, to _help_ him. The only question was how._  
“I think this is you,” he said softly.  
Cynthia blinked, realizing that they were, in fact, in front of her door. She frowned. “I don’t want you to leave.”  
He smiled sadly. “I’m afraid that I’ll have to, tonight, at least.”  
“Will I see you tomorrow?”  
He thought for a moment and leaned to kiss her temple. “Tomorrow night, Songbird.”  
She hummed softly as she faced him, giving him one last lingering kiss. “Tomorrow night.”__


	2. Chapter Two

Cynthia had woken up much earlier than normal; by her clock it was only 1:30 in the afternoon. Normally she wouldn’t be up until four or five. She sat up and stretched, but winced at a sharp pain in her neck. Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she stood, shivering as her feet hit the floor, and padded over to her vanity. Yawning loudly, she opened an eye to peek at her neck and her face flushed. The memories from the night before trickled back, his voice echoed faintly in the back of her mind and her stomach twisted into knots.  
_“Tomorrow night, Songbird.”_  
She smiled to herself, eyes drifting back to her neck. She reached up, lightly brushing her fingers across the angry purple marks.  
“Shit…” she mumbled, reaching for her makeup. _This might take a while._____

_ _ _ _By the time Cynthia’s alarm clock chimed six, she had just barely zipped up her dress when a familiar knock rapped against her door.   
“Showtime, Cynnamon, get your fine ass out here.”  
Lulu's sleazy owner enunciated the final word by slapping the door harshly, causing her to jump. She hated it when he did that. A hand instinctively went to her wrist and she sighed, rubbing it loosely while giving herself a once over in the mirror. She turned, running a hand along the dangerously high slit in her dress. Her eyes widened, spotting a thumb-sized mark peering out from underneath the fabric. Cynthia swallowed hard, twisting the fabric back around and saying a silent prayer that her manager’s eyes wouldn’t wander too far tonight._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Her head snapped around as the man in question burst into her room. “Cynthia, what the _hell_ do you think you’re-” his eyes instantly fell to her neckline, and a horrible grin spread across his face. “Well, well. Haven’t seen this dress in quite some time.” Without looking back, he slyly nudged the door shut, eyes flashing. “Come here.”  
Cynthia’s stomach dropped and she shifted her feet, carefully placing her hand over the top of the slit. “I don’t...I should probably get onstage, Mal, you know they don’t like to be kept waitin’...”  
Mal cocked his head to the side, letting his eyes trail along her body in a way that made Cynthia squirm. “I _said_, come here.”  
She reached for her wrist, taking a few stiff steps forward. _Please...let him get called away…_  
He moved closer, grabbing her wrist firmly and kissing her palm. “You’ve always been my favorite performer, Cyn,” he spoke softly against her hand, eyes fluttering shut. “You know that, right?”  
Cynthia winced, her body tensing. She gave a tight lipped smile, trying to pull away. “Mal, you...you’re _hurting_ me…”  
He suddenly yanked her forward, grasping the back of her neck with an iron grip. When his eyes snapped open they were wild, almost unhinged. “You and that new fella got awfully close last night.”  
Her stomach dropped. “I...I don’t know...know what you’re talkin’ about.”  
“Now, _honey_,” he began, sickly sweet and full of no affection, “you and I both know that lyin’ don’t get you nowhere good.”___________ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Cynthia blinked, and she was suddenly eight years younger, just starting out at Lulu’s. Her first show had been incredibly successful, enough that the owner himself had asked her to meet him in his office.  
"Mr. Heartman?" Cynthia called, gently pushing his door open. "I was told you wanted to see me?"  
Malcolm Heartman, already balding by the age of 29, was behind his desk with a cigarette between his fingers and a grin on his face.  
"The woman of the night!" He claps his hands together and stands. "Come in, come in, take a seat! What's your poison, whiskey, bourbon, vodka?"  
"Oh...oh no, sir, I'm, uh...I'm a little too young," she says sheepishly, perching on the end of the only other chair in the office. _He read my papers...right?_  
Mal waves a hand dismissively, pouring two glasses of bourbon and pushing one into her hands. "Oh, nonsense, you're the star of the show! If you're old enough to perform, you're old enough to drink." He clinked their glasses together with a wink and sat on the edge of the desk, slowly bringing the glass to his lips.  
"What, um...what did you want to see me about, Mr. Heartman?"  
He set the glass aside and tilted his head. "Mal."  
"Sorry?"  
"Name's Mal, sweetheart, nobody calls me 'Mr. Heartman' unless I owe them money." He takes a long drag of his cigarette, tapping the ash onto the floor.  
Cynthia turns the glass in her hand, avoiding his eye. "Then...then, Mal, why did you call me in?"  
He slid over to stand directly in front of her, and she shrank in on herself. "Because I like you, kid, what you did out there was nothin' short of magic. You've got the voice of an angel, you're sexy, you're-"  
"16."  
He blinked. "Excuse me?"  
"I'm 16, Mr. Heartman, and I really don't think you should be sayin' this stuff about me." Cynthia stood, trying to ignore the shaking in her hands. "So thank you for the opportunity, but I'm gonna be going now, if that's alright with you."  
She set the glass on the arm of her chair and nodded stiffly, turning on her heel and starting out.  
A glass whizzed by her head, shattering against the door and causing her to whirl around.  
"You ain't goin' nowhere, girl," he snarls, crossing the room in a few quick strides and grabbing her wrist tightly.   
"Let go of me!" She screams, trying to pull him off.  
Mal forces her back against the door, slamming it shut and making her see stars.  
"There ain't no way in hell you're just 16, look at you."   
Now that he was closer, Cynthia could smell that he reeked of booze, having clearly drunk more than the few ounces she'd seen.  
"I...I promise I am, Mr. Heartman, if you'd just l-let me get my papers - "  
He spun her around, pinning one wrist behind her back and the other above her head. "You and I both know that lyin' don't get you nowhere good," he sneered in her ear, pressing her back flush against him, "but why don't I show you a good time anyway?"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _In another blink Cynthia was back in her dressing room, 24 years old, but facing the same demon as before. Only this time, she knew how to placate him.  
"I'm sorry, Mal, for lyin' to you. I did get to talkin' to the newcomer, figured I'd make him feel welcome," she said slowly, shifting to look over his shoulder.  
The grip on her neck loosened a fraction, and the sanity slowly starting filtering back into his eyes. "He's not another club owner, right?"  
She shook her head. "No sir."  
"And you ain't leavin' me, _right?_"  
"No sir."  
He stood silent for a minute before finally freeing her from his grip. "Go. Before I have to tear that little thing off you again."  
He reached around and pinched her ass, making her jump, before stepping aside. "Knock 'em dead, hot stuff."  
Cynthia gave a weak smile before turning and hurrying down the stairs, stomach in terrible knots. ___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Rufus, I'm quitting."  
The pianist didn't even look up from the music, but his hands stopped. "No you aren't, Lee."  
"I am! I can't take that fuckin' lunatic anymore!" She collapsed onto the bench beside him and put her head on his shoulder.  
He gingerly wrapped an arm around her still shaking frame and squeezed lightly. "I know, Lee. But you won't be here forever."  
Rufus Kraul was the second Lulu's employee that Cynthia was introduced to, and from the end of the first show, they were nearly inseparable. He looked after her like she was his own, and she loved him like a father.  
"How much of it did you hear?" She asked softly, beginning to hear the night's crowd start to filter in.  
"Heard him call you by that stupid ass nickname, talk about your dress, but once the door shut, couldn't hear much else."  
She nodded slowly, making a vague humming noise in the back of her throat.  
"Did he hurt you again?"  
She swallowed thickly, feeling her wrist sting. "Grabbed the back of my neck, but it shouldn't bruise."  
"_Ce connard oughta sait que jouer avec toi ne lui fera aucun bien,_" Rufus mutters angrily.  
"Don't blow a fuse, old man," Cynthia shifts to smile at him, and Rufus relaxes, "I can handle myself, I promise."  
"I still think you should let me get a few good hits in," he mutters.  
She stands, kissing the top of his head before taking her place at the microphone. "Maybe someday, _grand-père_, but tonight, we entertain."  
He smiled sadly, but, hearing Mal's introductory speech coming to a close, nodded to Cynthia and played the beginning of the night's set.  
The curtain opened, and Cynthis gave the crowd her best sultry look as she started to sing.   
_Black is the color  
Of my true love's hair________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. Chapter Three

“And let’s give it up one last time for our very own _Songbird of the South,_ Cynthia Rae!” Mal kept a tight arm around her waist, but it barely registered for the singer; her eyes searched the crowd for Rafael’s, almost desperately.   
But his face was nowhere to be seen.  
She felt Mal kiss her temple and guide her offstage, but her heart felt like stone. _He must not have meant anything from last night, he...he’s just like every other bastard that strolls through the doors._  
“Cynnamon, are you even listening to me?” Mal’s voice pierced her thoughts like a balloon, snapping her back into reality.  
“I’m...sorry, Mal, got lost in thought, uh...what were you sayin’?”  
He sighed, squeezing her waist. “I was _sayin’_ that you seemed off tonight. Kept your head swivelin’ like an owl. What were you lookin’ for, Cyn?”   
Before she could answer, his hand slowly slid from her waist to her hip, just where the slit in her dress started.  
She jumped, a hand flying to her necklace. “I wasn’t...wasn’t lookin’ for nothin’, Mal” At his lack of response, she gave a timid smile. “Honest.”  
He hummed quietly, tracing along her skin. “There’s some dangerous people in this world, girl.”  
His fingers curl around the slit in her dress and Cynthia fights the urge to pull away. His lips brush the shell of her ear as his fingertips dig into her skin. “I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”______

_ _ _ _ _ _Abruptly, the curtain beside them was pulled back, and a familiar pair of eyes met hers.  
“Cynthia,” Rafael smiled brightly. But his smile fell when he saw Mal, or, more specifically, Mal’s hand.   
She shifted, drawing his eyes back to her own, which silently begged don’t upset him.  
“If it isn’t the newcomer,” Mal scoffed, straightening to his full height, but drawing the singer closer.  
“Newcomer?” Rafael asks, looking back at Mal with vague disgust. “You’ve been talking about me?”  
“Briefly,” Mal shot the look right back. “Nothing good.”  
“Mal...come on, that’s enough,” Cynthia says softly, placing a shaking hand on his chest. “He ain’t botherin’ nobody. Besides,” she finally managed to slide from Mal’s grasp, taking Rafael’s hand, “I asked him to meet me here, after the show.”  
Cynthia didn’t miss the way Mal’s eyes almost flashed in anger. She also didn’t miss the way that Rafael subtly put himself in front of her.   
“If that’s alright with you,” Rafael sneered, more of a challenge than a question.  
Mal scoffed, eyeing up the man before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Stay off’a my stage you lousy prick,” he snapped, stalking through the curtain and disappearing into the slowly growing crowd._ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Once Mal was absolutely gone, Rafael did a quick once over of Cynthia. “Did he hurt you? Are you alright?”  
Cynthia couldn’t help but smile at how he fretted over her, and gently took his face in her hands. “I’m fine, hon, don’t you worry about me. Mal wouldn’t do anything to hurt his biggest moneymaker,” she tried to laugh, but Rafael still looked worried sick. She leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his lips, pulling away just enough to talk. “I promise, I’m fine. Come on up, we’ll have a drink.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Cynthia could feel Rafael’s eyes watching her as she poured two glasses of bourbon. “What’s your name tonight?”  
“What?”  
She folds her legs under her, settling onto the bed and passes him a glass. “Yesterday you said your name was Rafael ‘for tonight.’ Well, it’s tomorrow, from yesterday’s point of view, so what’s your name tonight?”  
He laughs, taking a drink. “Didn’t think you’d remember that.”  
“As if I’d forget anything about you,” she says quietly.  
Rafael glances up at her with a half-smile. “Who’s Artie?”  
“I’m sorry?”  
He sets his glass on her nightstand and points to his collar. “Your tattoo. Who’s Artie?”  
“Hey, that ain’t fair, I asked you first!” She giggles, playfully swiping at him.  
“And I am a ridiculously private person.”  
She pouts, batting her eyelashes before settling back against the wall and wrinkling her nose. “Fine then, Mr. Secret Man,” she giggles, “I’ll tell ya about Artie.”  
“He was this guy that used to come to the club, only on my nights, only for my show. While guys were tryin’ to get as many drinks in me as possible so I’d go home with them, Artie’d write for me; poems, songs, stories, anything he could think of. It made me feel...normal, ya know? Not just some skirt for the sleazeballs of this town to chase after.”  
Cynthia’s eyes had gone blank as she stared into her glass like the memory had suddenly turned painful. “But then Mal found out that I was playin’ favorites and he...Artie stopped comin’ by after that.”  
She took a short breath, wiped her eyes, and flashed a smile. “Your turn, Secret Keeper; what do I call you tonight?”  
Rafael searched her eyes, seeing that her smile was so close to breaking made him want to cry himself. But he knew that pressing the subject wouldn’t end up bringing any good. “I like the way Rafael sounds when you say it,” he grinned, “so let’s keep it that way tonight, hm?”_ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, yes, I know it's been...A While, a lot happened in rapid succession, but I'm going to try to update these stories some more. Thank you to everyone who's stuck around waiting for chapter three!


End file.
